One of the miracles of American pulp SF of the 1930s is that a good story could slip through, now and then -- this one, for example.
Raymond Z. Gallun was never a stylist, but never an embarrassment, either. He had just enough writing skill to bring his ideas to life, and these were often striking.
In "Derelict," a man running away from his past, without direction since the death of his wife and child, comes across a dead alien vessel adrift in space. His arrival triggers an automatic repair system, and its elegant alien robot, voiceless but perceptive, inscrutable but patient, not only rebuilds the ship, but also heals the psychologically-wounded man.
This combination of narrative simplicity and emotional meaning sets "Derelict" above so many other stories from its decade. Gallun deserves to be rediscovered by every new generation; I want stories like this to stay alive.
Thanks for the post. I’ll check him out!
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